The Darkness of Three Kings
by PassiveAgression
Summary: A story that has only yet begun. Been a work in progress for some time, so RR! Incomplete
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue: A Prelude of Evil to Come **

He awoke with a start, for the third time this week alone. Rather than trying to go back to sleep, which he knew he wouldn't be able to do, he rolled over to his katars. He thought about the evils he had seen and the friends he had lost. His thoughts darkened, and he felt his anger and sorrow building up inside of him, threatening to overtake him again. The ground was cold, but he wasn't a bit chilled, not as long as he knew what lived inside of him. Proteus stood up, walked to the opening of the tent and drew it back slowly taking in the serenity of the deep night around him. Then he stepped out into the night, cautiously, always preparing himself for some unseen enemy; such was his training. As he looked around, he relaxed because he knew he had nothing to fear, for no one ever has or ever will know where to find him. He thought about the trip to Ensieg that lay ahead of him, and the job that awaited him when he arrived there. He relaxed and looked up to the sky above him. Looking about it, he noticed there was an odd color in it, not the normal deep violet it had held ever since he could remember, but there was a fiery red in the background of the sky…

Guyon had been awake for many hours, it seemed to him, and he had not once grown tired. As he tidied up the church where he and his traveling band of Paladins had housed themselves for the night, he thought to himself; turning over the age-old battle with the great demon, Belphegor. He pushed these thoughts back down, because this wasn't something he cared to see again. Once was more than enough for him. He decided to go outside and get some fresh air and to clear his head; so he gently pushed the massive doors to the great stone church open, just enough so he could slip outside. The cold air rushed into his face, draining its warmth. Unwavering, he stepped into the freezing air and sat on the great stone steps. Noticing a blood red color in the sky, the kind that appears when the sun is about to set, and makes the sky slowly bleed as it descends to sleep, he felt the battle rushing back to him, cascading into his memories as the dam he built to hold it all fell away. As he drown under the weight of his memories, he couldn't shake the feeling of something evil looming over him...

Odin, the leader of the Druids hailing from forests surrounding Scosglen was up early this morning, rising to greet the sun as it rose over the canopy of their forest home like he did every day since he had married Cailleach. He looked into the hazy sky, and he thought of the battle with Belphegor, and the destruction that he and his legions unleashed. The pure evil that enshrouded the land was more than enough to dissuade even the strongest from their faith. Odin however, was devout to his druidic principles and found his strength in the land around him. It was this that kept him strong in the battle against Belphegor, and what helped him to persevere in the face of such evil. He prepared himself for the day ahead of him, and glided down the massive oak staircase to the forest outside. The trees screamed with cries of pain, but they fell on deaf ears; as Odin was too focused on other things at the moment. For this reason, Odin would never forgive himself. Evil would drive it's way back into the land, and because Odin hadn't heeded it's call, he would have to pay...


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was hanging groggily in the sky and it shone through the treetops lazily, casting itself on him as he walked. He walked without purpose and without aim, just one foot in front of the other, slowly moving himself by his own device. He bathed in the sunlight, mostly because he didn't have a choice in the matter. The sun may have been lazy about it, but he was captured in its essence nonetheless. Blood ran down his arms, trickling in between his fingers and reaching for the ground from their tips. He was walking away from it all, away from the pain and the anger; away from what he had done. The forest was quiet, and Proteus basked in its serenity as he fought to center himself, fighting back the anger and the sorrow that had overtaken him. How could it have come to this? When did he himself become something that struck so much fear into his heart? All answers that he knew, but he refused to accept. He would wander alone from this point on, because he could never accept what he had done, nor could he face those who he had done it to. As the sun gazed into his plight, he continued through the dense forest, unknowing of his destination, but traveling to it anyway.

He heard a small brook cut through the silence of the forest like a knife through lace, destroying its beauty. A minor inconvenience, but he would have to wash the blood from his hands before he could travel into a town or local village. This was the kind of task that he was getting used to, and it was the kind of stain that never came clean. The kind of inconsistency that couldn't be noticed with the naked eye, but he would always know that it existed nonetheless. The clear water ran red with the blood of innocence for a few seconds, but as quick as it was noticed, it had vanished. He watched the water spill over the rocks trapped underneath it for a few minutes, turning over the questions that haunted him in his mind; were these riddles meant to be answered? Would he ever find the absolution he sought? Only time would tell, and his patience had worn thin as of late. A twig snapped behind him, and within moments, his lifetime of training had taken over. By the time he had realized what happened, the stag lay at his feet, and yet more blood was on his hands. He calmly walked back over to the stream, washing the blood away yet again. And, as quick as the whole scene had happened, it had left his conscience.

The sun was becoming more firm in its resolve now, and the temperature was rising as the he continued his aimless wandering. He envisioned himself a dark wanderer, heading for the next best thing: an asylum from the world, the place where he lived before demons ravaged the land, before everyone expected him to lead them to victory, and before he had lost himself.

* * *

Guyon lazily opened his eyes and looked around the room. He was still tired, even though he spent most of the night and the morning asleep. Pulling back the cover of the pelt and standing up, he felt despondent to his surroundings. The vertigo that chased his quick ascension left him with an intoxicating dizziness. A few of his fellow paladins entered the room and gazed at him, as he slowly focused himself. They awaited his orders for the day, and they were eager to know what was in store for them. He stood himself up against the wall for a few seconds, and the vertigo washed over him, then broke and retreated. The paladins in the doorway watched as he assembled himself, like a great tapestry, into the leader they knew him to be. He looked at them, first Lokasenna, who was the only other female bedsides Artega of the group; then over to Verdandi and Jorn, the two most inseparable people whom he had ever known. They were a particularly small band of paladins, but they were recognized for their courage and valor, not the size of their group.

Like Guyon this morning, the Sun didn't want to be awake for the day. He stepped out into the main hall of the abandoned church, which lead to the two great wooden doors at the entrance, where he had made his late-night excursion. The walls were made of gigantic granite slabs, and they sparkled in the slender rays of sunlight, presenting themselves in all sorts of splendor for everyone to see. The ceiling but support beams, as the actual roof had collapsed into the main hall, leaving a gaping maw to curse the sky. Below the sides of the roof, where the jagged edges collided with the sparkling granite, there were massive stained glass windows. Some had been weathered by the ages they had seen, and broken under the strain; but those that held strong were overrun by sunbeams and the color of the windows spilled into the church. He stepped out of the priest's working quarters into the grand piece of art that was his shelter.

They were heading for Ensieg, where they would make contact with their sect, the Knights Templar of Haven. He gathered his things, strung his shield over his back, and prepared for the journey which lay ahead. They had been traveling for nearly three days now, and they were still nearly two days away. The war with Belphegor was over, and a time of peace had begun. Guyon's people would be needed to assist in the rebuilding of Haven. The minions that were freed upon the mortal plan wreaked more havoc than was expected, and their daemonic taint filled the land, hanging over those who would dare dismiss it. The rest of his band remained strong, even though the battle wore upon them greatly, none would allow Guyon to see it. He didn't have to see it though, he knew it was there; and he knew that it meant trouble.

He ordered the band to gather their things, and prepare for the next foot of their journey back to their homes. Guyon could see the wear in their eyes, but they refused to let it burden them, and set about gathering their things. He meandered through the fallen rocks and ceiling rafters that littered the floor of the church over to the great oak doors that sealed them into the beautiful tomb. The light shone down on him, burning his shadow onto the ground behind him, as if to leave a print to mark his time spent in the age-old cathedral. He prayed to God in the sunlight; he prayed for the power to forgive his sins, and to forget his past.

* * *

The morning was divine, the kind that he particularly liked. The air was crisp in his lungs, rich with taste, and the snow on the ground crunched lightly as he passed over it. The sun was struggling to move in the sky, but its radiance was creating a firestorm of crystalline sparkles over the landscape. It had been a long time since Odin has been in the outside world, and he was glad to be returning to it now that there were no wars to fight against the Demons of mankind. The forests of Sclosgen had become a refuge from the ever-fluctuating, instable world that surrounded them, but they could not avoid the world forever. War would come to Haven once again, and it would come to Haven whether the druids were involved in the world or not. Odin had decided to join the world before war came back to it, stranding the druid population from the powers that flowed through the rest of the world. He walked through the massive pines, running his fingers over the runic language engraved in his armor, giving him strength beyond strength.

He focused his energy, and whispered the words he had whispered a thousand times, focusing his mind on one goal – transmogrification. The winds of magic spun around his body, howling from the ground up. He could feel a part of his life-force changing, becoming more feral, as he changed himself through druidic magics. His skin became furred, his fingernails became razor blade claws, and his face changed. Thankfully, the transformation from human druid to werewolf became less and less painful through practice. His new form lit the woods up around him, and he could smell new things through the air, see new patterns on the wind, and the part he saw as the most fun, move with lightning speed.

He flew through the woods, reading ever breeze and leaf like a book of ancient lore. His senses went wild around him, and he could feel the woods talking to him as he raced through them. He caught a smell that was familiar to him on an eastbound breeze, the smell of death. This wasn't the smell of a natural death, the way it was intended, this was a smell of walking death. This was a smell of necromancy. Yet there was a distinct after-taste to it, like the taste of blood in Odin's mouth. He paused in his morning run, and sampled the smell for a few moments longer until he realized who it belonged to. This was a smell with hints of betrayal, sick pleasure, and undead. There was only one person that this smell could belong to, and the debt between that man and Odin was unsettled. He caught a stronger grip on the already weak scent, and proceeded to fly though the woods to its source. He had lost the scent before, but not again.


End file.
